


Happy Birthday, Kid.

by orphan_account



Series: Sherstrade Domesticity [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday Present, Blow Job, Hand Job, Lazy Sex, M/M, Porn without any kind of plot whatsoever, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ‘Why…’ Greg said, peppering kisses along Sherlock’s right side. He had started at his collarbone and was just tracing past his right nipple, ‘...do people…not put...more emphasis...on the importance...of kissing…?’





	

‘Why…’ Greg said, peppering kisses along Sherlock’s right side. He had started at his collarbone and was just tracing past his right nipple, ‘...do people…not put...more emphasis...on the importance...of kissing…?’ He stopped a moment, and peered up at Sherlock’s face. 

The younger man’s brow was creased and his bottom lip was held between his teeth. He smiled, and dipped back down, tracing the tip of his tongue in a waving line below Sherlock’s nipple and then assaulted the dampness by blowing cool air against it. He delighted in seeing Sherlock’s skin react, prickling immediately. He laughed he heard Sherlock hiss, and looked up to see him smiling languidly. He continued his lip-service, kiss after kiss being traced down until he reached the waistband of the black boxer shorts keeping Sherlock’s questionable modesty. He raised up, sitting on the backs of his legs, and gripped both of his hands at Sherlock’s hips, dipping his fingers beneath the fabric of his shorts. ‘Bum up,’ he ordered, and Sherlock obliged without further prompting, allowing Greg to slip the jersey material underwear down his thighs. 

Sherlock’s penis greeted him immediately, hard and taught with it’s ever so slight left-way curve, and Greg smiled hungrily at the gasp Sherlock made when cool air met his hot flesh. Greg brought Sherlock’s shorts right down his legs, dragging them from his thin ankles before tossing them across the room to join the pyjama t-shirt he’d thrown over there twenty minutes before. He stayed sitting on his legs, and took Sherlock in his left hand. He started slowly, gently easing his foreskin back to expose the sensitive head. Sherlock turned his head into the pillow, dragging it over his face with his right hand, and gasped into it. Greg’s hand moved teasingly slow, back up the shaft to pull Sherlock’s foreskin back over the weeping head before languidly revealing it again in a downward stroke. He felt Sherlock twitching in his hand and applied a little more pressure, tightening his fingers around Sherlock without once bringing up the speed. 

Sherlock thrust his hips up lazily, begging for a something more, but Greg refused. He placed his right hand on Sherlock’s pelvis, holding him still, and continued to plague Sherlock with his painfully slow movements. He brought his hand back up Sherlock’s penis again, pulling the foreskin back over the swollen head, and let go, eliciting a guttural groan from Sherlock that was gruffly cried into the pillow. Greg giggled, unable to hold it back, and shuffled back on the mattress. He braced his hands either side of Sherlock’s hips, gripping the bed sheet, and leaned down to take Sherlock in his mouth. He hummed immediately, knowing what that particular vibration did to Sherlock, and swallowed greedily as Sherlock’s cock leaked heavily in anticipation. Sherlock’s left hand sunk down and grabbed at Greg’s hair. He didn’t push, or thrust, or force, but he held tightly to Greg’s silvery hair as the older man lay his assault with his tongue down. Greg drew back, letting his tongue lap against the tip of Sherlock’s penis as he let it fall from his lips. Sherlock groaned as the air cooled against the wetness and he squeaked in his throat. Sherlock’s arm fell like a dead weight onto the mattress. 

Greg knew Sherlock’s body too well, he knew what he liked and didn’t, what felt comfortable to him and what hurt. He knew Sherlock loved the feel of his moving foreskin, that it took that friction to get him to orgasm; he knew that Sherlock hated when Greg pulled it back too far; he knew that Sherlock hated when Greg took him too deeply in his throat; he knew that Sherlock loved to feel Greg’s fingers wrap around him and pull him to that sweet head-space of absolute ecstasy. Greg knew exactly what conditions, movements and emotions it took to get Sherlock off and he planned on exploiting it all. He eased back up onto his knees and sat back against his calves. He wrapped his left hand around Sherlock’s penis and drew his hand up, covering Sherlock’s exposed, weeping head with his foreskin before releasing his grip and recapturing his quivering member again, with his thumb and forefinger in a ring, and focused his attention right on the head of his penis, exposing and hiding the slit with each upward and downward stroke of his fingers. 

Sherlock’s hips pulled back and thrust forwards, his eyes screwed closed and his mouth fell open, letting gasps of ‘Uh..oh...uhhh…’ escape in an almost femininely high exhale of air. He didn’t attempt to render the slim man’s hips immobile this time and instead let him thrust into his hand. He sped up the action of his wrist, jerking Sherlock’s cock in quick, sharp tugs until the man made a heavy grumble in his throat. ‘Shit...fuck… Gre…. ah…..’ Greg moved his hand impossibly quicker, drawing Sherlock’s orgasm closer and closer until Sherlock’s entire body spasmed, his abdomen contracting inward, and he ejaculated with an intense growl. Greg kept his hand moving, torturing Sherlock’s sensitive flesh as cum pooled around his fist. Only when Sherlock’s groans became alarmingly close to whimpers did he relieve the poor man of his assault, giving Sherlock’s penis a final upwards stroke. 

Greg reached for a handful of tissues from the box on Sherlock’s side of the bed, all the while keeping his eyes on Sherlock’s still twitching body. His face was bright red with sweat glistening in his hair and along his brow. His nipples stood hard, his entire torso was alive with goosebumps and his eyes fluttered closed with post-coital sedation. Greg folded the tissues in on themselves after cleaning up his hand and left them on the night stand. He traced his calloused fingers carefully up Sherlock’s body, from his bellybutton to his neck, and then held Sherlock’s chin between his fingers to keep him still and steal a kiss. He pulled back, smiling at Sherlock’s inability to keep his eyes open or right his breathing fully. 

‘Happy Birthday, Kid…’ Greg smirked, releasing Sherlock’s chin.


End file.
